


Shittiest Date Ever

by Canadihipster (Atomograd)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 14:48:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atomograd/pseuds/Canadihipster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, we upset our friends.<br/>Which is exactly why we must repay them in the form of fancy suits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shittiest Date Ever

There comes a time when accidentally offending someone without really meaning to while totally meaning to makes a situation almost laughably horrid.  
Only not laughable at all.  
Actually, he was two hundred percent certain he was about to burst into tears and slam his face against a wall and whine about it until his vocal cords ceased working.

Instead, the Psiioniic found himself buried in the Dolorosa’s lap. Having already received his scolding, she was patting his head for the time being, offering the best advice she possibly could on the matter. Which was, of course, explaining that making up to her son whatever it was that he’d done was necessary. Beyond necessary - Required by law and, as far as any of the group were concerned, shewasthe law.

That, indeed, was the exact reasoning behind the almost-uncomfortable suit and tie thing. He was up to the nines in satin - Or was it silk? He still couldn’t tell what the fuck fabrics even were in the first place, used to spandex and cotton or whatever the hell. - and the colour yellow. Yellow jacked, yellow and black striped tie, black pants. He was pretty sure his under shirt was yellow, too, though everything had been nothing more than a jade blooded blur only a few minutes before he found himself in some in-land, near-abandoned town, sat down in a restaurant that had probably never seen better nights than that very one.

After all, it’d never had the Dolorosa and the Disciple decorating it. Beautiful, handmaid curtains and table cloths, cloth napkins, hell, even candles. How they managed to get everything together, the Psiioniic was unsure, but food was already waiting for him and, before he could even dare take in the decadent scent, he was dragged back to his feet. And, rather gently, shoved outside the place. With furrowed brows and a surely confused expression, the Disciple tapped her long nailed fingers against his back before simply reaching for his wrists and lacing his hands behind his back. He shifted, made himself more comfortable as she retreated, stood taller.

Within a few more minutes, he was greeted by an equally tentative, also suited Signless. His colour scheme was similar, reds and blacks and greys, a frown tugging his lips before a smile almost forced it’s way onto his face. He was still angry about being called a “thithy-athhole who couldn’t hold hith own in a drinking contetht againth a wriggler,” it seemed. With a roll of his eyes and a quirked brow, the Psiioniic shrugged, turned, and began walking back into the newly decorated black, his companion following close behind.

“So. I’ve got no clue what this is all about in the slightest, let alone why we’re here. Care to explain?” His tone wasn’t as soft as usual, not genuine in it’s curiosity. It wasn’t until they were both seated at their designated table, feeling almost extremely mutually awkward with the whole damn thing, that the yellow blood finally replied.

“Lithten,” might as well be blunt about it. “While I really doubt you could hold any amount of alcohol in the thlightetht, I’m thorry I offended you or whatever. I’ll make it up to you by kicking my own ath or thomething, IDK,” he shrugged a shoulder, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. His companion’s brows raised, but his lips twitched upwards with them.

“Is that a challenge?”

Fuck.

He wasn’t prepared for a damn drink-off - It was supposed to be some dumbly romantic candle lit dinner. Where would he even get anything even slightly alcoholic to proceed with it? Certainly not the girls, they’d never allow it - Unless they’d overlooked some bottles within the place itself.

“No, it’th not a god damn challenge, holy shit. I’m jutht thaying, thith ith thuppoth-” He stumbled on his own tongue, making an array of gross, lispy noises, eventually just slapping a hand over his own mouth and scowling, face burning in embarrassment. When he looked up, the Signless was fighting down laughter, a hand raising to wipe beneath his nose to cover a wide grin. His dimples were visible, though, and his cheek bones, and that was enough to give away the expression - Next to his eyes, of course, bright and happy in the Psiioniic’s presence for the first time in hours.

“Supposed to be what, exactly?”

“Shut the fuck up.Thhhh-po-sed,” he grinned. Close enough. “To be an apology or thome shit.”

“For what, spreading lieth and thlander?”

“Hey now-“

“I accthept your apology, Thiioniic.”

“I’m going to punch you tho fucking hard.”

The Signless laughed, waved a hand. Of course, both of them were being playful, the Psiioniic even fighting down a smile at that point.

The rest of the night went fairly smoothly - That is, until about an hour in. Both men had finished the meals that’d been lain out previously for them, engaged in plenty of conversation, and ended up by the far end of the establishment. The Signless was leaning back on his hands on the counter of what they figured out was actually a bar, humming some old tune quietly as the Psiioniic rummaged behind him.

“Land fuckin’ ho, captain,” both black clad arms wrapped around the Signless’s waist from behind, head cocking back. He felt glass bottles pressing in against his hips and a chin against his shoulder and, with a snort, he managed to wriggle enough to turn himself around in the other male’s arms, playfully flicking his forehead.

“We struck gold, Psii. Way to go - Now I can finally prove to you how much more,” he glanced behind himself for a moment, “Wine I can hold than a wriggler.”

“Yeah, right. More like have me hold your hair behind your eartht ath you vomit violently,” he pulled back long enough to hand over a bottle, easily taking care of opening his own with little more than his teeth.

There was a hiss from somewhere unidentifiable and, before much else could be done about it, the bottle the Signless had been holding was snatched away, the predator succeeding in her hunting and taking away what they’d tried oh so hard to discover.

Thus leaving two men and one bottle of wine.

Looks were exchanged, followed by simultaneous groans. They were expected to usewine glasses,how fucking horrid could these women be.

“Fuck it,” the Psiioniic muttered, shaking his head before taking a rebellious swig from his bottle. They both tensed, waited for the strike that was sure to come. No such thing appeared and, while his friend was still waiting, the Signless took the opportunity to snatch the bottle away and take a mouthful of his own, grinning as he stuck his tongue out after swallowing. “Hey- No. Give that back. It’th mine, I found it, no fucking fair, athhole.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, what was that? Give it back? Hm. Hmm. I’ll really have to think on that one, my friend, my deepest apologies-” Before he could continue, he found himself with arms back around his waist and a forehead almost aggressively nuzzling against his own, knees on either side of the Psiioniic’s waist. His stomach fluttered, but he blamed it on the insignificant amount of wine he’d taken in, even as he draped both arms - and the bottle - around the other male’s shoulders, nuzzling back lightly.

“I could alwayth jutht claim you ath mine, inthtead. Fair trade, right?”

“Are you saying my worth is equivalent to that of a bit of alcohol?” He raised a brow, pout tugging at his lips as he leaned back. The movement only enticed the Psiioniic to lean more against him, shoulders shrugging as he ducked his head and buried his face against his neck, breathing right where he knew damn well it tickled. He fought a laugh, gave him a squeeze, and nuzzled down against his hair.

“You’re worth plenty more. But that’th two bottleth I’m blaming on you forthing out of my pothethion, and I dunno what’th worth more: That, or you,” such a statement earned a light, playful slap to his shoulder and an almost too-harsh nip against the base of a horn.

“Alright, alright, maybe you’re worth three bottleth of wine. And a half.”

**Author's Note:**

> Re-posted from my Tumblr.


End file.
